


Sure Hope This Doesn't Awaken Anything In Me

by indieninja92



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Fluff and Smut, I mean there's a little plot, Lingerie, PWP, Praise Kink, Smut, The Smut Must Flow, Underwear Kink, a bit of humiliation i guess, but again nothing too crazy, but nothing heavy, but only for the furtherance of porn, idk enough abt sex to tag this thing lol, unbeta'd we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indieninja92/pseuds/indieninja92
Summary: It starts with a bit of idle chatter about underwear and ends with Crowley on his knees under a desk.





	Sure Hope This Doesn't Awaken Anything In Me

**Author's Note:**

> good evening friends, here is some smut. i wasn't sure what all to tag this with but rest assured everyone is safe and happy and feeling very nice about everything. if you think it needs tagged with something i've missed just hmu. find me on tumblr at indieninja92
> 
> unbeta'd bc i dont have any friends ;)

There were so many things Crowley loved about Aziraphale. His smile, his eyes, the pink that rose in his cheeks and ears when he got embarrassed - or when he was flustered, or drunk, or, as Crowley had been delighted to discover, when he was aroused. But right now, the thing Crowley loved most about Aziraphale was his softness. Not abstract, emotional softness - though he admired that, certainly - but the actual physical reality of his lovely, soft body.

He pressed his face into Aziraphale's tummy and tried to explain. Unfortunately, Aziraphale was giggling too much to hear him.

"Crowley, it tickles! Stop!" he shrieked.

The noise only spurred Crowley on. He dug his fingers into Aziraphale's sides, making him wriggle and kick, breathless with laughter. In his quieter, more thoughtful moments, he would reflect on the injustice that it had taken 6,000 years and half an apocalypse for him to get the chance to hear his angel laughing like this, utterly unconstrained. He took a deep breath... and blew a loud, wet raspberry on Aziraphale's side. This was not one of those moments.

"Crowley you absolute menace! Get off me!"

"What's that, angel? Get you off? Well, if you insist..."

Crowley moved up the bed to bring his head level with Aziraphale's. Their bodies pressed against each other in an unbroken line and Crowley thrilled to feel Aziraphale push himself closer even as he protested. He pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's open, laughing mouth and at the same time slipped a hand between them to squeeze Aziraphale's already hard cock. Aziraphale kissed him back, a moan half caught in the back of his throat.

"That isn't what I meant," he said, though there was no malice in it.

"Oh? Should I stop?"

"Don't you dare."

It had been months since the apocalypse that wasn't - months since their first kiss, desperate and fumbling, since they first found their way into Aziraphale's bed and started the journey of exploring one another's bodies. Crowley had been shocked to learn that Aziraphale had not limited his exploration of corporal pleasures to the culinary arts but had, in fact, spent the last 6,000 years falling into bed with any number of warm and willing bodies. He'd felt a little put out about it, until Aziraphale had teased him for his prudishness and assured him that of course none of them had ever held a candle to Crowley.[1]

If he'd had time to think about it, Crowley would probably have been intimidated by the gulf between Aziraphale's experience and his own - or rather, his almost total lack thereof. But it was impossible for him to feel uncomfortable with Aziraphale, who had treated him from the beginning with absolute trust, delight and welcome. It was intoxicating.

Aziraphale's thighs tightened around Crowley's hips. The feel of bare flesh giving way against him made Crowley shiver with delight. His own cock was hard against Aziraphale's and he moved his hips to let them slide against each other. He pulled away from Aziraphale's mouth and moved to kiss his neck, his ears, the soft spot underneath his jaw. He pressed his teeth into Aziraphale's shoulder, not hard but enough to feel the give of his flesh beneath the pressure.

Slowly, he made his way downwards. The soft white hair on Aziraphale's chest caught the sun and glittered as he breathed. Crowley pressed his face into it, lost in the perfect physical sensation of being surrounded by his angel, being close and warm and loved. He breathed in the smell of skin, hot and clean, familiar to him in a way that made his heart ache. Aziraphale's hand moved in his hair.

"Darling?" The sound made his chest rumble under Crowley's ear.

"Mmm?"

"Darling, I hate to disturb you but... Would you please hurry up and put my dick in your mouth?"

He would never, if he lived another 6,000 years, get used to hearing that kind of language in Aziraphale's voice.

"You are unbelievable!"

"I'm just saying!" Aziraphale tried to sound serious. "You seemed to be heading in a certain direction..."

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's neck, kissing and biting and talking all at the same time. "You're so spoilt, you are so bloody spoilt," he said, squeezing Aziraphale's sides again to make him giggle and squeal.

"I'm encouraging you! I appreciated your initiative and wanted to- Oh!"

In a quick, fluid motion, Crowley slid back down the bed, lifted one of Aziraphale's legs onto his shoulder and buried his face in the soft flesh of his inner thigh. It was one of his most desperately ticklish spots[2] and he reacted more perfectly than Crowley could have hoped, kicking his legs and squealing like anything. Crowley lifted his face to look seriously at him, the gravity of his expression only slightly marred by the fact his hair was sticking up like he'd just made out with a plug socket.

"Angel, please. Think of the neighbours."

Aziraphale, too weak with laughter to respond, made a thoroughly unangelic gesture at him.

"Unprecedented scenes of rudeness in this bedroom today, I shall be lodging a complaint."

"Fuck off," Aziraphale sighed happily.

Smiling, Crowley lowered his head back to Aziraphale's thigh. He kissed it gently, giving him chance to acclimatise to the sensation. He could feel the muscles twitching under his lips as Aziraphale fought the urge to react. Slowly, achingly slowly, Crowley moved his mouth. He trailed his lips against the warm skin, hair tickling against his lips. Aziraphale sighed again, relaxing into Crowley's touch. As he did, the muscles beneath his skin gave way. Crowley opened his mouth, hardly biting - just feeling the press of flesh under his teeth, the soft warmth against his mouth.

Aziraphale groaned, a barely-there noise that Crowley might have missed if he wasn't concentrating on Aziraphale with every part of his awareness. He adjusted his grip on Aziraphale's leg and bit down in earnest now, hard enough and no harder. Aziraphale's answering gasp made his dick twitch even as he kissed away the hurt. He squeezed the place where his hand rested against Aziraphale's flank.

"You should get some stockings," he said, smiling. Aziraphale exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a snort. "You should! You'd look lovely in them."

Making sure to keep Aziraphale's leg thrown over his shoulder[3] he brought his mouth at last to Aziraphale's cock, just barely brushing his lips over the tip and tasting the precum already beading there. He started slowly, running his tongue around the head and slipping it into his mouth to suck, almost thoughtful, in no hurry at all.

Aziraphale hummed in contentment. His hand stroked the back of Crowley's head, fingers running gently through his hair.

"With a garter belt and everything?" he said. Crowley shook his head.

"Nuh-uh." He pulled away from his ministrations with an obscene, wet sound. "Hold-ups," he said, not wanting to be kept talking any longer than he had to. "With the lacy bits."

Aziraphale laughed. "I'd look like a tart," he said, the objection in his voice softened with lazy pleasure.

Crowley opened his mouth a little wider and pushed himself down until Aziraphale was snug against the back of his throat. He stayed there a moment, enjoying the feel of heavy fullness in his mouth, enjoying the twitches of Aziraphale's hips as he fought the urge to push deeper. He pulled back slowly, bringing his hand up to squeeze Aziraphale's cock and giving it a gentle twist for good measure.

Aziraphale looked incredible, sprawled out against the pillows with his legs spread wide, utterly unselfconscious, taking his pleasure however Crowley wished to give it to him. Crowley smiled and ran his tongue around Aziraphale's tip once more, pressing his tongue against the sensitive underside and making Aziraphale groan.

"You are a tart," he said, still smiling.

"Oh, do shut up."

#

And honestly, Crowley didn't think of it again. There were other things to take up his attention, not all of them sexual.[4] As time went on it became more and more apparent that neither Heaven nor Hell were paying either of them any mind. But Crowley still found himself nipping over to Glasgow for a spot of temptation, or bringing down internet connections at vital moments just for a little something to keep himself busy. It felt good - or, well, not _good_, but bad in a satisfying sort of way. He'd never disliked the work, after all - the actual business of demonic activity suited him, as well it might. It was quite nice to be able to get on with things without having to figure out how he might explain in a report.

And of course, he and Aziraphale still went out to dinner or to the theatre, still met in St James park to chat and enjoy one another's company. But now they held hands while they talked, an astonishing act of casual public affection that had the power to render Crowley dumbstruck if he thought about it too closely. They sat beside one another in the pub rather than on opposite sides of the table. And at the end of the night, more often than not they went home together, slipped into bed, discovered all over again what humans had spent the last six millennia making such a fuss about.

So, yes, in light of all this, it was not surprising that Crowley forgot the details of the conversation - especially given how distracted he'd been while the conversation itself was taking place. What was surprising was that Aziraphale hadn't forgotten at all.

They'd been out most of the afternoon, first for lunch and then for a good old fashioned lounge around in the park. Crowley fell asleep on the grass while Aziraphale read his book, one hand moving slowly through Crowley's hair as the other turned the pages. On the walk back to the bookshop, Aziraphale took his hand and started to speak with a strange determination.

"Crowley, dear boy," he started. "When we get back to the bookshop, I'd like you to come upstairs with me, please. If that's alright with you."

Crowley processed the words. "...you want to fuck?" he said, enjoying the blush his words caused. He grinned. "You can just ask, angel, Go- Someone knows we've done it enough by now."

"That wasn't what I meant! I mean," he conceded. "Obviously it was what I meant. I'd very much like us to fuck this evening, if you're amenable." The twinkle in his eyes told Crowley he knew exactly how ridiculous the sentence was, and was enjoying it immensely. "But there's something I'd like to show you, first."

"Mm, what kind of something?"

Aziraphale's cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. "Just a small something I think you'll enjoy."

He refused to elaborate any further. They got back to the bookshop and Aziraphale wasted no time leading Crowley up to the bedroom of the little flat above the shop. It was a beautiful space, cosy and cluttered in a way that soothed parts of Crowley's soul he hadn't known were agitated until he stepped inside and felt them fall still. It smelled of old books and sun-warmed dust and something indefinably, irresistibly Aziraphale.

Crowley put his sunglasses into his pocket as soon as he walked in - it seemed ridiculous not to, here of all places. Then he pulled Aziraphale into a kiss, still thrilled at the audacity of the act.

"I love you," he said, smiling around the words.

Aziraphale smiled too, barely breaking the kiss. "I love you too," he said, so easily it made Crowley's head spin. He pressed himself against Aziraphale and deepened the kiss. Aziraphale groaned, halfheartedly pulling away. "Wait, hold on a tick," he tried to say, but found Crowley's mouth insisted on getting in the way. "Crowley!"

Crowley grinned, insinuating his hips against Aziraphale in the bodily equivalent of a purr. "I'm right here, angel, no need to shout."

Aziraphale huffed with frustration and changed tack. He stepped forwards, hands fisted in Crowley's lapels, enjoying the squeak of surprise the sudden movement elicited. A stumbling rush to the edge of the bed and he deposited Crowley without much dignity on the tartan bedspread. He stood up straight and looked as sternly at Crowley as he could manage under the circumstances.

"Just you sit there and wait a moment, alright?" he said, cheeks flushed.

Crowley held his hands up in mock defence. "Hey, you only had to ask."

"Hmm." Aziraphale adjusted his jacket and tried to gather his wits. He glanced at Crowley, and rolled his eyes. "Oh, now, really. Must you?"

Crowley let his body fall into a pose of languid sensuality, his long legs casually open, one hand resting on his crotch as if there were no more natural place for it to be. "Must I what, angel?" he said innocently, squeezing his hardening cock through his jeans almost absent-mindedly.

"You're incorrigible."

"You love it."

Aziraphale conceded the point. Then he remembered what he had brought Crowley here for. A look of shy excitement came into his eyes. "You can't look," he said. "While I get ready."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Whatever you say. You want me to close my eyes, or have you got a blindfold hidden away somewhere?"

"No blindfold," said Aziraphale. Then, after a pause, "Though maybe file that one away for later, eh?"

"Absolutely. Alright, eyes closed."

"No peeking."

"Wouldn't dream of it, angel."

He scooted himself up to the head of the bed got himself comfortable, toeing off his boots and socks. He closed his eyes and, after a moment, started to remove his jacket.

"Don't look!" Aziraphale squeaked.

"I'm not looking! Look, eyes tight shut. Just taking my jacket off."

"Oh. OK then."

"Honestly, angel, I won't look. You want it to be a surprise. I love surprises. I love you."

He didn't need to look to know the look on Aziraphale's face. The soft way he'd be looking at Crowley, as if he'd said something inexpressibly beautiful. He waited a little longer, trying to translate the noises he could hear into an idea of what Aziraphale's surprise might be. Then, Aziraphale cleared his throat.

"OK," he said. "Open them."

He did as he was told - and his brain short-circuited. Stood at the end of the bed was Aziraphale, beautiful and pink and not sure what to do with his hands but brimming with barely-contained excitement. He had on a loose, floating lace camisole that draped perfectly over his curves. Underneath, a span of soft, vulnerable flesh before the stretch and gentle squeeze of a pair of stockings topped with lace. True to form, the ensemble was a delicate shade of gold. It was so utterly, perfectly Aziraphale that for a moment, Crowley was completely speechless.

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, just the smallest flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Crowley? Is that... Is that the good kind of abject silence?"

Crowley nodded, speech still a little beyond him. He managed to close his mouth and swallowed hard. "Yes," he breathed. "Fuck, yes, Aziraphale. You look... You look incredible."

A beaming smile spread over Aziraphale's face. "Oh, really? I'm so glad! It's, well, it's a little silly," he added, trying to look sheepish but clearly thrilled.

Crowley shook his head. "It's not silly at all. It's perfect. You're perfect."

He couldn't stop staring, could hardly believe his eyes. Aziraphale was so pleased with himself, and with Crowley's obvious appreciation, and it only made him more gorgeous. Crowley shifted his position, opening his arms.

"For the love of, of _Someone_," he said, his throat dry. "Get over here."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he had a lap full of blushing, giggling, wriggling angel. Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and buried his face in his neck, smiling into his skin.

"Gorgeous," he said between kisses. "Absolutely gorgeous."

He ran his hands over every part of Aziraphale he could reach, the smooth glide of the fabric thrilling him in a way he hadn't expected. His long fingers trailed over the place where Aziraphale's thigh swelled up from the press of the stocking top. He moved his hand and was delighted to find a pair of lace-trimmed French knickers hugging Aziraphale's arse. Crowley leant back, his hands on Aziraphale's hips, his own hips rocking instinctively back and forth, and watched the movement of Aziraphale's body through the fabric, here clinging, here slipping loose. A damp circle started to grow on the front of the knickers, Crowley pressed his thumb against it and felt a blush of precum soak through the fabric against the sudden pressure.

"Darling?"

Crowley blinked. He swallowed, his mouth dry. He'd been staring. Aziraphale's cheeks were flushed, the strap of his camisole fallen off one shoulder. He was well on his way to being properly dishevelled, and Crowley had hardly touched him.

"Can you," Crowley started to say, but cut the thought off.

"What do you want, darling? Tell me." Aziraphale moved his hips in a filthy motion, his voice dropped to a distinctly unangelic whisper. "Please. I want to hear you tell me."

"Can you- Can I look at you? Just look at you, for a moment?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to understand. When he did, he smiled.

"Of course," he said.

He climbed out of Crowley's lap and arranged himself on the middle of the bed. As he did, Crowley got to his feet, legs shaking a little as they took his weight. He turned to face the bed - to face Aziraphale, sitting with his feet tucked away under himself, soft and golden in the evening light. Crowley's jaw was slack. He felt far, far away from himself. His cock was painfully hard behind the pressure of his jeans but he made no move to fix it.

"Touch yourself," he said, and his voice was so quiet he couldn't believe it had really come out of him.

It was loud enough for Aziraphale to hear, though. The angel smiled, happy to oblige, and slowly - desperately, teasingly slowly - he lay back against the pillows. He ran a hand down over his chest, fingers tracing the bumps of his nipples where they pressed up against the silk. His hand continued down, slow as sin, skipping over his crotch to run his fingers up the inside of his thighs. The sensation made him shiver and groan, head falling back against the pillows. Crowley moved compulsively, circling the bed like it held some tender prey.

Aziraphale moved too, letting his legs fall open. The stockings were tight around his thighs - with hardly a thought, Crowley made them just a little tighter, added just a touch more pressure. Aziraphale's eyes fluttered open and found Crowley's, a question in them.

"Keep going," said Crowley.

His eyes were full yellow and unblinking as he took in the sight of Aziraphale spread out before him. Aziraphale was squeezing himself through the fabric of his pants. Crowley could see precum staining the crotch where the head of his cock pressed against the silk. He held out a hand.

"Give them to me," he said, the words out of his mouth before he'd known he was going to speak. "Please, can I... Pleassse."

Aziraphale licked his lips, the bottom one catching on his tongue for a moment before springing back full and pink. Something in Crowley's head quietly imploded. Aziraphale wriggled out of the knickers and knelt up in the middle of the bed. His cock bounced with the movement, fat and heavy.

"Ssshit," Crowley hissed. "You're ssso fucking beautiful."

He took the knickers from Aziraphale and, with no thought at all, lifted them to his mouth.

"Oh," breathed Aziraphale.

His eyes went wide as Crowley's tongue, forked and flickering, traced the stains he'd made on the silk. Crowley's own eyes fluttered shut at the taste. When he opened them again, he found Aziraphale's and smiled - a raw, animal baring of teeth.

"Keep going," he said.

A shiver of arousal ran through Aziraphale's spine. Crowley was looking at him like something to be devoured, swallowed whole and alive. It was intoxicating. He took hold of himself and started to move, slow, languid movements that nonetheless left him breathless. Beside the bed, Crowley finally unbuttoned his jeans - just enough to push his hand, still holding the sodden underwear, into the space to squeeze and touch himself in time with Aziraphale. Aziraphale gave a breathy laugh.

"Perhaps we should get you a pair next time," he said.

Crowley shook his head. "I like... I like that they're yoursss," he said, barely audible. The thought ran through him as he voiced it. He swallowed hard.

He started to pace again, circling the bed in a hungry, lupine movement. Aziraphale tried to keep watching him but his eyes kept flickering closed. He tilted his head back and Crowley saw the pulse shivering in his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, sharp and ready. Aziraphale was panting now, a line of sweat on his upper lip. Crowley couldn't restrain himself any longer.

"Over," he said, his voice low and heavy. "Hands and knees."

Aziraphale did as he was told. He let his head fall to the bedspread, hips raised and ready. Crowley stared, taking in the sight of him. With his free hand, he dragged his hand, long-fingered and hot, up Aziraphale's leg from ankle to knee to thigh. He lingered there, at the line where the top of the stocking dug in. Then, in a rush of desire, he brought his mouth down, tongue running along that same line, teeth pressing into the sensitive flesh on the back of Aziraphale's thigh and making him groan.

"Oh, Crowley," he whispered into the bedspread.

Crowley's grip on his leg tightened. The mattress shifted as he climbed up behind the angel, one hand steady on his arse, the other pushing his legs a little further apart. Aziraphale must have known what was coming, or could have hazarded a guess at least, but the delicious shock of it sent him moaning face-down into the mattress.

Crowley's mouth was hot against his hole, his lips and tongue moving over Aziraphale's rim until he pressed back, greedy for more. Crowley was aware of nothing but his tongue on Aziraphale, inside him, fucking him without mercy until he was wet and loose and desperate. He held his thighs open with both hands, spreading him wide and taking his pleasure. His own erection was throbbing and wet, he could still feel the bunched silk of Aziraphale's ruined underwear down the front of his jeans. It was a sordid, dirty feeling and he revelled in it.

By the time Crowley lifted his head, Aziraphale was utterly lost. He had his face pressed into the bedspread, muffling desperate, needy sounds he didn't seem to be aware he was making. Crowley moved to cover Aziraphale's body with his own, kissing Aziraphale's sweat-curled hair, holding him close. His voice, when it came, was deceptively calm.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said into Aziraphale's ear. He kissed him again, a chaste press of lips to hair. "Make yourself ready."

Aziraphale, barely able to string his thoughts together, nodded weakly and tried to click his fingers. It took two attempts, his hands uncooperative as his mind, but the miracle took. Crowley smiled. Part of him thrilled at the thought of Aziraphale using a miracle for this - to make himself wet and open for a demon's cock.

"Good," Crowley purred appreciatively.

Aziraphale sighed. "Please," he said. "Please, fuck me. Please."

Crowley stripped his clothes off without hurry. When he settled in behind Aziraphale, he took a moment to enjoy the feel of Aziraphale's naked skin on his. The camisole had ridden up Aziraphale's sweat-slick back. Crowley pressed a kiss to the exposed skin, lined himself up, and pushed inside.

He tried to go slowly, he really did. He wanted nothing more than to feel Aziraphale around him for as long as possible, to take his time taking him apart push by push. But he was so warm, so tight, so ready for him. His hips jerked, moving with a will of their own. He fell forwards, arms shaking as they fought to hold himself up.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. "Angel. Angel, I'm not going to- I don't think I'm going to-"

Aziraphale responded by pushing backwards onto his cock, moving his hips in time with Crowley's. They fell into rhythm, fast and unforgiving. Crowley could feel Aziraphale's orgasm building, could feel him tightening around his cock as the pressure built. The rhythm stuttered and stumbled as he tried not to lose pace. He pushed himself up to take Aziraphale's hips in his hands and the sight of his cock buried inside him was almost too much for him.

"Come for me, angel," he panted. "I want to feel you come on my cock. Come for me, sweetheart, come on. I've got you."

Aziraphale shook as his orgasm wracked through him, his strangled cry muffled by the bedspread. The sudden tightness was enough for Crowley. He came hard and fast, hips jerking with the sweet shock of it. His come filled Aziraphale hot and thick, and he moved just to feel the slide of it, sinful and obscene. Finally, he pulled out and slumped onto the mattress beside Aziraphale.

For a long while they just lay there, each lost in waves of pleasure and exhaustion. Crowley reached out a languid hand to find Aziraphale's hair. It was wet with sweat, curling as it dried.

"You OK?" he managed.

"Mmhmm."

"You wanna sleep?"

"Hmm."

Crowley exhaled sharply, the closest thing to a laugh his spent body would allow him. He clicked his fingers. The mess they'd made of themselves and each other - not to mention the bed - was gone. Aziraphale sighed contentedly.

"Under the covers or over?"

Aziraphale didn't answer. Instead, he wriggled the small distance that separated them and wrapped himself around Crowley in a tangle of limbs, keeping his eyes closed throughout. Crowley took the executive decision - another click brought the duvet out from under them and laid it across them in a wave of cosiness. Crowley was just starting to drift to sleep when Aziraphale spoke.

"P'jmas. Pluhs."

It took Crowley a second to translate. Then he smiled, and clicked his fingers once more. Aziraphale's camisole and stockings disappeared, replaced by comfortable cotton pyjamas and a pair of fluffy socks. Crowley himself opted for an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers. Aziraphale smiled and snuggled closer.

"Th'nk," he mumbled into Crowley's chest.

"You're welcome. Sleep well, angel."

But Aziraphale was already asleep.

#

Crowley woke alone, which was not unusual. Aziraphale might have come around to the idea of sleep on certain occasions, but was no connoisseur. He liked to spend time in bed with Crowley in the evening, reading with Crowley cuddled close and sleepy. But he didn't have Crowley's knack for lounging[5] and most mornings he got up around dawn and started pottering about, keeping himself busy until Crowley decided it was time to face the day. That morning, Crowley found him downstairs in the bookshop - sign still firmly flipped to 'closed' - reorganising the romance section. He looked up from his seat on the floor and beamed at him over the piles of books.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?"

Crowley grunted. He was still in his t-shirt and boxers, hair sticking up in all sort of unlikely directions, only awake in the most technical sense.

"Oh, poor boy," Aziraphale said without much compassion. "It's a hard life, isn't it, waking up at the crack of..." He checked his watch. "Quarter to eleven."

Crowley flipped two fingers at him but otherwise didn't answer. Eyes still half closed, he picked his way through the concentric rings of books that span out across the floor with Aziraphale at their centre. When he reached the middle he knelt down and, without saying anything, pushed the angel's legs open to make space for himself to curl up in his lap. Aziraphale laughed gently and, when Crowley had made himself comfortable, he wrapped his arms around his long, skinny body and kissed the top of his head.

"Good morning," he said, more gently this time. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Mmm," Crowley hummed, pressing himself into Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale took that as a yes, and reached to find a cup of black coffee exactly where he had expected it on the floor beside him. Crowley wriggled a bit, getting into a position where he could take the mug and still keep as much of himself as possible propped up against Aziraphale. The change in position freed up Aziraphale's arms, and he continued sorting books while Crowley sipped, reaching around him to put each edition in its proper pile.

"I'm going to go back to the flat for a bit," Crowley said after a long, peaceful while.

"Oh?"

"Mm. Things to do."

"Alright, dear. Perhaps we can meet for dinner."

Crowley hummed in agreement.

"You know," said Aziraphale after a moment. "It's alright if you just want to spend some time by yourself. You don't have to be doing anything in particular."

"I know," said Crowley, a warm flush rising in his chest.

He did know that, logically, if he thought about it. But it still didn't feel quite true. Even after these long, beautiful months together, he struggled to believe that Aziraphale wasn't somehow under a kind of spell, or making a horrible mistake, and that if Crowley left him alone for too long he'd come to his senses and take his leave of him. He was learning to believe it, slowly. But it would take time. What wasn't surprising at all was that Aziraphale had seen that uncertainty, and had reacted not with anger or hurt but with the kind of quiet, easy kindness that shook Crowley to his core.

He pressed a kiss against Aziraphale's neck, closed-mouthed and chaste. "Love you," he said.

"I love you too, dear boy. Oh, and I wanted to say - I enjoyed last night very, very much." He smiled as he spoke, shifting the mood of the conversation easily. Crowley laughed.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad. I enjoyed it too."

"Mmm, I gathered as much at the time. It was awfully good fun, having you in charge like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, absolutely. Do you think we might do that again?"

Crowley didn't blush, because he was a demon, and demons don't blush when they're talking about sex.[6] "Sure," he said, totally nonchalant. "If you like."

Aziraphale kissed his head again. "I would like. I'd like very much. And maybe," he said slowly, bringing his hand to the nape of Crowley's neck and enjoying the shiver the movement elicited. "Maybe we could swap around sometimes?"

Crowley's eyebrows twitched. "Huh?"

"Perhaps I could take charge. Tell you what I want you to do."

Crowley's stomach suddenly seemed very far away. "Nngk."

"Would you like that?" Aziraphale asked, his voice low and steady. "If you don't think you'd enjoy it-"

"No," Crowley said quickly. "I'd like it. I think, I mean. I think I'd like it a lot, actually. Um."

He swallowed again and closed his eyes, grateful that from this angle he didn't have to look Aziraphale in the eye as he spoke. Aziraphale's chest shook as he laughed, a gentle sound full of fondness.

"Do you know, I thought you might," he said.

Crowley huffed. "That obvious, am I?"

"Not at all, dear boy. You surprise me every day, it's one of the things I love most about you." Crowley's heart stuttered a little at that, but he tried not to show it. "But let's just say I've... Well, I've been around a bit, and I think I've a fairly good eye for what a person might enjoy. Though I'm always happy to try something new, of course," he added.

Crowley snorted. "Course you are," he said. "Tart."

Aziraphale didn't answer - just kissed him fondly and got back to sorting his books.

#

Crowley didn't come back to the bookshop for a few days after that. They met for dinner and lunch and chatted on the phone, but at the end of each day they kissed each other goodbye and went their separate ways. Crowley spent his evenings watching television that he knew Aziraphale would hate, or going out to clubs where he could dance and drink and send ripples of lust through the crowd. It felt good, holding a little space for himself that didn't revolve around Aziraphale. And he knew Aziraphale felt it as well, they talked over dinner about the friends Aziraphale had been seeing and the trip he'd made to the country to do some walking. It sounded fantastically dull to Crowley, schlepping up and down hills for no reason but because they were there, but Aziraphale spoke about it with a happy glow in his cheeks that Crowley felt a corresponding rush of warmth to see.

"I'd like to see you tomorrow night," said Aziraphale over dinner on the third day. They were in a tiny boutique bistro Crowley had spotted a week before and known instantly Aziraphale would love it. "If you're not busy?"

"Yeah, sounds good. To stay over?"

Aziraphale nodded. A smile crept onto his lips. "I thought," he said, dropping his voice. "We might try what we talked about the other day. About me... Taking charge?"

Crowley sat up straight. It was the first time in about 200 years he'd tried it, his spine didn't quite know what to do with itself. Heat rushed into his cheeks. "I- Yes, OK. Sure. I mean, if you want to?"

Aziraphale's smile widened, somehow warm while still shivering with hunger that had nothing to do with food. "Oh, I want to. Rest assured, dear boy, there's nothing I'd like more."

Crowley blinked. "Right. Cool. Cool."

"Marvellous," said Aziraphale, patting his lips with a napkin. "You can come by at about seven?"

"Seven. Sure."

"Lovely, I shall look forwards to it." He smiled properly then, bright and irresistible. "Would you like dessert here or shall we go somewhere else?"

#

He nearly didn't make it to seven. By five o'clock he was pacing around his flat, failing to remain calm. It mightn't be anything special, he told himself. Or at least, no more special than sex with Aziraphale always was. Go- Sa- _Someone_, he liked having sex with Aziraphale. Fucking Aziraphale. Making love? He pulled a face, shook the thought away. Being in love, being loved, loving in general and specific terms - all of this he could just about handle, but that particular turn of phrase always made his skin crawl. It belonged to people who had 'Live Laugh Love' signs in their living rooms.[7]

But then again, it might be something very special indeed. It might be something wonderful. He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed a shower - cold as he could cope with.

#

Nervous energy carried him to the bookshop for 6.45. It was the best he could do. He pushed the door open and called out.

"Aziraphale? You here? Sorry I'm a bit early."

Relief washed through him when Aziraphale stepped out from the shelves and smiled. He looked... exactly as he always did. "Hello, darling! No need to apologise at all, I was just finishing up."

He came to kiss Crowley on the cheek, and Crowley turned his head to make their mouths meet instead. Aziraphale didn't mind - he hummed happily against his lips and shifted to get a better angle. The last of Crowley's nerves melted away. This was Aziraphale - whatever happened, he was in safe hands.

"Mm," said Aziraphale appreciatively as he pulled away. "You smell lovely."

"New shampoo." He smiled. "Scrubbed up for you, angel."

"You look wonderful, as always." He reached past Crowley and flipped the sign on the door to 'closed'. "I hope you don't mind that I didn't," he said over his shoulder as he walked back to the shelves. "But I think you'll understand why. Back room, please," he added.

Crowley frowned to himself as he made his way through the shop. What did that mean, he'd understand why? What possible correlation could there be between their plans this evening and Aziraphale not changing after work? He shrugged it off, thinking instead about the tone in Aziraphale's voice when he'd told him to come into the back. Was there a touch of command in there? Or was he reading into things?

The back room was the same as it had always been - cosy, comfortable, perfect for long, boozey evenings and quiet, confessional nights. Crowley breathed in the familiar smell of it, dusty in the warm evening, and slung his jacket over the back of the sofa, choosing to lean against its back rather than sit down.

"What's the plan then, angel?" he called. "Out to dinner, or a night in the flat?"

Aziraphale came to the doorway and leant against the frame, his arms folded. He'd discarded his jacket somewhere and had rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing surprisingly strong forearms. Somehow, he managed to look as sexy like this as he ever did naked. Perhaps even more so, though Crowley didn't know how it was possible.

"Well?" he said. "What were you thinking?"

The look Aziraphale gave him sent a shiver through his spine. He dragged his eyes up Crowley's long, lean body like he was something delicious. "I thought I might just fuck you here, actually," he said, his voice perfectly calm.

For a moment, Crowley couldn't speak. He tried to swallow. "Oh. OK. Cool. That's cool. We can, uh. We can do that."

Aziraphale smiled, a slow, easy smile that made him look effortlessly in control. Which, Crowley supposed, was rather the point. "Come here," he said, that same bare hint of command in his voice.

Crowley did as he was told. When he was close enough, Aziraphale reached out and held him by the hips. He looked him up and down again, smiling appreciatively. "Look at you," he said. "You gorgeous creature. Take your glasses off, please."

Crowley's hand fumbled a little in their haste but he managed. Aziraphale's smile deepened, he ran a hand through Crowley's hair and cupped his face.

"Kiss me."

Of course, Crowley obliged. They kissed long and deep, Aziraphale's tongue sweet against his own. Aziraphale's hand came back up to Crowley's hair and pulled, gently but not too gently. Crowley gasped, his eyes closing of their own accord.

"Do you like that?" said Aziraphale. Crowley nodded. "I'd like you to say it, please. Out loud."

"I like it," he said quickly. "I like it when you pull my hair. Feels good."

"Good boy," said Aziraphale, and Crowley's eyes snapped open. A look of surprise and pleasure ran over Aziraphale's face. He held Crowley's hair a little tighter. "Good boy," he said again, slowly.

Crowley's body reacted immediately, a gorgeous shiver running through him. If it had been anyone else he'd have been embarrassed at how obvious he was being - how pathetic, a demon who gets off on being praised like a child or a dog. But this wasn't anyone else. This was Aziraphale. He had nothing to be embarrassed about in front of him. He pressed into Aziraphale's touch, his brain already starting to lose its authority over his body. Aziraphale pulled him into another kiss, slow and soft, and Crowley's hips twitched with the pleasure of it.

He didn't open his eyes again until Aziraphale pushed him away, gentle but insistent. Aziraphale looked completely unflustered, damn him, his face covered with a look of mild interest, as if taking in a technically fine, but uninspiring piece at an art gallery.

"I want you to take your clothes off for me, Crowley. Strip naked. Now, please," he added, when Crowley hesitated.

Immediately, Crowley started toeing off his boots and socks. He'd started unbuttoning his jeans, fingers clumsy in their rush, when Aziraphale held up his hand. He stopped, staring.

"Slower," Aziraphale said.

Crowley swallowed. "OK," he said. "You want me to make a show of it?" he said, aiming for nonchalant and missing.

"You're quite the show as you are, my dear." He watched as Crowley peeled off his ridiculous trousers and started on the buttons of his shirt. "Perhaps I should start selling tickets," he said, still smiling. "What do you think? Other people watching you, watching us?"

Crowley's fingers stopped moving. He tried to imagine it. "Um."

"Or would you rather I kept you to myself? My special toy, just for me?"

That did it. Crowley stared, suddenly unable to move. He tried to speak, couldn't. Luckily, Aziraphale could read him like a book.

"Oh, you like that much better, don't you?" he said, his voice beautifully low and calm. "I'll keep you all to myself, dear boy. Keep you, and use you, for whatever I like."

The sound that came out of Crowley's mouth at that would have mortified him if he'd had any attention to spare on it. Aziraphale smiled at him kindly.

"Keep undressing, Crowley. We've got a whole night ahead of us."

Slowly, he stripped off his layers until he was standing completely naked. He didn't know what to do with his hands, folding his arms seemed ridiculous under the circumstances. He wasn't cold, the room was the perfect temperature,[8] but he shivered nonetheless. Aziraphale paid it no mind.

"Reach back and put your hands on the back of the sofa," he said. "Bring your feet forwards a little. Good. Now cross your ankles."

It took Crowley a moment to understand what he was being asked. When he realised, a hot blush ran over his cheeks and down his chest. The position was uncomfortable in the sense that he had to concentrate to hold it, though it didn't hurt to stand that way. What it did do was push his hips up and out, extend his whole body to emphasise the long, hard lines of him. He was presenting himself, offering himself up for Aziraphale's approval. And he certainly seemed to have it. Aziraphale ran his eyes over him, his expression carefully controlled but Crowley could see the shine of desire in his eyes. He shifted position slightly, adjusting his hold on the back of the sofa.

"Do... Do you like it?" he managed. His heart was beating so hard he felt sure Aziraphale would be able to see his chest moving even from his place at the doorway.

"Oh, I like it very much, sweetheart," Aziraphale said, and Crowley's treacherous heart skipped. "You look so lovely, spread out like this for me. You're being so good, darling."

Crowley's breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale pushed off from the door frame and slowly closed the space between them. He stood to the side, letting Crowley's long legs spread out beside him, and ran his hand down Crowley's chest, fingers trailing in the sparse hair. He pinched one his nipples almost as an afterthought, smiling at the hiss of pleasure it drew from Crowley's lips. Then he moved his hand to feel the hard planes of Crowley's sides, the bumps of his ribs where the skin stretched taut over them, and down to the jut of his hip-bone.

"You're beautiful," Aziraphale murmured, almost too quiet for Crowley to hear. "You're so beautiful."

Crowley tried to shrug but the position of his body wouldn't quite let him. "Bit bony," he said, trying for lightness.

Aziraphale shot him a look. "Don't argue with me," he said, his voice still level but edged with steel.

He moved his hand and cupped Crowley's balls, heavy with want. It was startling, not for the sensation itself but because of how it emphasised Crowley's vulnerability. He was laid out for Aziraphale to touch and take as he pleased. He arched his back, stifling a groan as Aziraphale squeezed and stroked, firm but gentle. A line of sweat prickled on Crowley's upper lip. His whole body felt hot, alive with sensation. He stole a look at Aziraphale, coolly calm, observing the effect his ministrations were having on Crowley with the dispassionate eyes of a scientist.

He lifted his hand from Crowley's crotch and took him by the jaw with that same touch, not forceful but insistent. Their eyes met, and Crowley was aware that he had given up keeping the whites in his eyes some time ago. Aziraphale's own eyes, grey-blue in the low light of the back room, were shining with pleasure.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asked quietly.

Crowley nodded quickly, part of himself cringing at how keen he must seem. But he was keen - he was desperate, and both incapable and unwilling to hide it. Aziraphale, with a slight push on his jaw, turned Crowley's head away to expose the line of his neck. He let his hand rest against Crowley's throat, feeling the twitch of it as he swallowed. Then he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to Crowley's neck, tongue flickering out to taste the sweat that shone there.

"Good," he said into the skin. He kissed his way down to the hard-edge of Crowley's collar bone and pressed his teeth against it. "I'm so glad."

And suddenly, he was gone. Crowley gasped at the loss of warmth and pressure. Aziraphale was walking away, crossing the room to his desk as if he'd remembered an important piece of work he simply had to take care of.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he said conversationally. He was loosening his bow tie, pulling it out of its knot as he talked. "About your body, the things we might do together." He turned to look at Crowley over his shoulder, hands falling still for a moment. "The things I might do to you."

Crowley didn't answer - couldn't have if he'd wanted to. Aziraphale didn't seem to notice. He was toeing off his shoes, setting them neatly beside one another against the skirting board.

"Not very surprising, I suppose," he said, still not looking round. "Every time I moved today, I got a little reminder of what we had planned."

He started unbuttoning his trousers, completely oblivious to Crowley's brain shifting into over-drive with his last sentence. Crowley was staring, desperate to see what Aziraphale could possibly be talking about. It was an awkward angle to look from, twisting his head around as far as he could. Just as Aziraphale was about to remove his trousers, he took a step forwards - and out of Crowley's line of sight.

Crowley bit back a groan of frustration. He snapped his attention forwards again, staring at the wall opposite him, trying to stay calm. He could hear Aziraphale moving behind him, the rustle of fabric as he folded his trousers and laid them neatly down somewhere. More than anything he wanted to turn and look - he didn't think he'd get in trouble for doing so, that seemed a little beyond anything he'd signed up for that evening[9] but he didn't want to break the mood. He was doing as he was told, tonight. And Aziraphale hadn't told him to move.

So he waited, impatient but obedient. His cock was hard, ridiculously hard considering it hadn't even been touched. He shifted his weight a little and the movement made it bob against his belly, leaving a kiss of precum where it touched. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. When he opened them, he jumped - Aziraphale had walked back to stand in front of him, feet quiet on the wooden floor. Crowley blushed, but was distracted from the embarrassment when he registered what Aziraphale was wearing.

He'd taken off his waistcoat, though he still wore his shirt - the top two buttons open in concession to the situation. But underneath he wore a pair of hold-up stockings - a different pair than previously, these were black and gold and sinfully decadent, and of course a pair of matching underpants, pale skin flashing in the loops of lace. Aziraphale leant back against the wall, a perfect imitation of Crowley's usual lounging pose, legs spread loose and languid, and squeezed the thick bulge of his cock. Crowley stared. What else could he do?

"Oh, angel," he sighed, desperate to reach out and touch. Aziraphale smirked, a cocky little thing so unlike his usual beatific glow and all the more enticing for its strangeness.

"It was quite an experience," he said in the same tone of voice he might comment on the cricket score. "Spending the day trying to work with... this," he gestured at his underwear. "Pressing against me. Trying to concentrate with the feeling of lace and silk sliding over my prick. Every time I took a step I could feel the cinch of the stockings around my thighs. And every time, it made me think of you - the way your hips twitch when I touch you, the sounds you make when I fuck into you, the way your mouth looks wrapped around my cock."

Crowley could hear hissing, somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness. It was him, he realised, his tongue forked and flickering against his teeth. Aziraphale didn't seem to mind. He stepped closer and Crowley's full-yellow eyes followed his movements like something hypnotised. Aziraphale looked him up and down and he shifted position, pressing his hips upwards, wanting to please, wanting to look pretty for his angel. Aziraphale noticed the movement with satisfaction.

"My dear boy," he purred. "So keen to please."

He raised his hand and, to Crowley's delight and a twinge of disgust, spat into his palm. Then he reached out and took hold of Crowley's cock, squeezing and twisting to spread the wetness evenly over him. His expression was one of careful disinterest, which only made Crowley more desperate. He pressed into the touch, biting his lip to save from whimpering. Aziraphale pumped his cock a couple of times before letting go, apparently bored.

"Kneel down, please."

The words were hardly out of his mouth before Crowley had obeyed, his knees hitting the floor with an audible bump. Aziraphale winced, stifled a laugh.

"Oh, dear boy, steady on," he said fondly, running his hand through Crowley's hair. Crowley grinned up at him, a little dazed. Aziraphale's eyes were soft. "Sweet thing," he said quietly.

Then his fingers tightened in Crowley's hair, and Crowley's eyes fluttered shut as the sensation ran through him, the smile failing, forgotten. A touch of pressure on the back of his head brought his face forwards to press against Aziraphale's crotch. Crowley leant into it, breathing in the smell of Aziraphale's cock and balls, clean and warm through the fabric. For a moment, Aziraphale seemed content simply to rub his crotch against Crowley's face. In the back of his mind, Crowley wondered if he ought to be humiliated. But he couldn't quite muster up the feeling. He was exactly where he wanted to be - it was hard to feel anything but good about that. He opened his mouth and pressed it against Aziraphale's balls, half kissing, half sucking.

He'd kept his hands behind his back without thinking, fingers laced together. Aziraphale adjusted his hold on Crowley's hair and said, "Do you want to touch?"

He nodded, trying to convey his _yes, please, yes_ as best he could. Aziraphale dipped his chin, all the permission Crowley needed. He pressed his face into Aziraphale's crotch again and closed his eyes, concentrating. Slowly, he trailed his fingers up the backs of Aziraphale's legs. The stockings were smooth to the touch and his legs felt warm beneath them. At the tops, he pressed his fingers against the lace and felt the line where Aziraphale's thigh swelled out over the elastic. Hardly believing he was allowed, Crowley brought his hands up to stroke Aziraphale's crotch, squeezing his erection through the silk. He pressed his mouth against it, kissing and licking, his other hand slipped up to cup Aziraphale's arse. From above, and sounding very far away, he heard Aziraphale groan and shift with pleasure.

"That's enough," said Aziraphale. Crowley ignored him. "Darling," he said, his voice a little firmer. "Put your hands behind your back."

Crowley grunted, letting his head fall forwards in frustration, but did as he was told. Aziraphale's hand moved in his hair, pulling gently.

"Good boy," he said, and the words almost made up for the ache of desire in Crowley's chest.

He opened his eyes when Aziraphale stepped away, not wanting to miss anything. His cock was starting to leak in earnest now, precum beading at its tip and threatening to drip. He wanted to take hold of himself, relieve the pressure just a little - but Aziraphale hadn't said that he could. He stared, slightly slack-jawed, brain playing nothing but static, as Aziraphale pulled out the chair from his desk and set it down a few feet away from where Crowley knelt. He sat down directly opposite Crowley, legs open and casual.

"Kneel up," he said. Crowley pushed himself up from off his haunches, wobbling a little as he found his balance. Aziraphale's hand moved over his crotch, Crowley's eyes fixated on the motion. "Would you like them?" said Aziraphale, and Crowley almost didn't hear. He blinked. "Would you like them?" he said again.

Crowley's jaw fell open. Aziraphale smiled, and stood to wriggle out of the lace knickers. Crowley dimly registered the sight of Aziraphale's dick, heavy and hard, but his attention was fixed on the underwear in Aziraphale's hand. Aziraphale took a step closer, suddenly uncertain.

"May I?"

Crowley didn't understand the question. He shuffled thoughtlessly closer, his hands still tightly linked behind his back. Aziraphale moved closer and lifted the hand holding the underwear up in front of Crowley's face. Finally, Crowley understood. He leant forwards and pressed his face into Aziraphale's hand, sniffing and licking the salt-stained silk. Aziraphale took another step forwards so that Crowley didn't have to strain to reach. He put his other hand on the back of Crowley's head, holding him steady as he rubbed the fabric over his nose and mouth. Again, Crowley felt a flicker of embarrassment. He was acting like an animal, letting himself give in to base instinct. But he couldn't find it within himself to care. The taste of Aziraphale's body on the fabric was irresistible, the feel of Aziraphale's hand heavy on the back of his head.

"Stand up," came Aziraphale's voice. He pulled back and blinked up at him. "Now, Crowley. Stand up."

Crowley got to his feet, legs shaking as he fought to keep his balance with his hands still behind his back.

"Thank you, darling. Now - take them." Aziraphale held out the wad of now-damp fabric. "Take them. You want to touch yourself with them, I know you do. I want you to. I want to see it."

Crowley tried to fit his thoughts into words. Once again, Aziraphale seemed to read his mind.

"You won't come," he said, more certain that Crowley felt. "Not until I tell you too. You're a good boy, aren't you?"

Crowley nodded. He was a good boy. He could be good. If Aziraphale wanted him not to come, he wouldn't come. Simple as that. He reached out for the underwear, fingers shaking slightly. He arranged them in his hand, draping the crotch of them over his palm. Then he pressed them against his cock, eyes flickering closed as he did so. He thought of Aziraphale pulling the silk and lace over his naked body that morning, rolling the stockings up his legs full of thoughts of what he would be doing that evening. He thought about him spending the day distracted, aroused, his cock twitching in the same underwear that Crowley now pressed to his own leaking prick. He thought about their fluids mixing in the fabric, the salt of Aziraphale's precum itching with his own.

He opened his eyes, not sure how long he'd been standing rubbing himself. Aziraphale had taken his seat again and was watching him with hungry eyes, his own fist working his cock in time with Crowley. The sight was almost too much - Aziraphale with his stocking's tight around fat, pale thighs, his cock wet and throbbing in his hand, his eyes trained on Crowley's body. With a gasp, Crowley pulled his hand away from himself, teeth pressing into his lip with the effort it took not to come. From the chair, Aziraphale made an appreciative noise.

"Well done," he said. "You're doing so well."

Crowley gasped, remembering to breathe just as the burn started in his chest.

"You're doing so well," Aziraphale said again. "Put the underwear on, please."

Crowley did so, his nose just barely wrinkling at the feel of wet fabric against his prick. But it thrilled him too. The pants were a little too big for him, he kept his hand cupped against his crotch to keep them in place even as they hung loose on his arse.

Aziraphale laughed, though not unkindly. "You always look so elegant," he said. "Look at you now. Naked and aroused in a pair of dirty knickers, your prick so hard and wet at the thought of it."

Hot blood rushed to Crowley's cheeks and over his chest. His breathing was quick and shallow, sweat prickling over his forehead and upper lip.

"Come here," said Aziraphale.

Crowley shuffled forwards. Gently, Aziraphale pulled his hand away from himself. With a twist, he did something to the side of the knickers that pulled them tight against Crowley's body - a knot, he realised, to hold them in place. He sighed at the pressure, glad for it and frustrated at the same time.

"That's better, isn't it?" Aziraphale said, running his hands appreciatively down Crowley's thighs. He sat back on his seat and spread his legs. "Kneel down for me, darling." He went more gently down this time and was rewarded by Aziraphale's heavy hand in his hair once more. "Good boy. Now - open your mouth."

He did so, and held it open as Aziraphale took his cock in hand and pushed it against Crowley's cheek. Precum smeared over Crowley's cheekbone, Aziraphale's fat cock rubbing over his face before pushing into his open mouth. He made to start sucking, but Aziraphale's hand on his head stopped him.

"Not yet."

So he waited. The weight of Aziraphale's cock in his mouth was heavy and hot. He could feel his mouth filling with saliva as he resisted the urge to suck and swallow. His eyes found Aziraphale's, found them full of kindness even now.

"Good boy," Aziraphale breathed. "Oh, you're doing so well. Just a little longer."

Crowley's mouth grew wetter and wetter. He could feel the drool building behind his lips. Slowly, Aziraphale moved his hips. It was a bare, fractional motion, but it was enough. Spit spilled out over Crowley's lips, dribbling down his chin and dripping onto the floor in strings. Aziraphale wiped his thumb through the mess.

"Oh, that's it, sweetheart. Good boy. You're doing such a good job."

He moved more now, pushing his cock in and out in slow, dragging movements. Every pull dragged more saliva out of Crowley's mouth, he could hear the drops of it hitting the floor between his knees. Crowley didn't know how long he could stand it, sitting with Aziraphale's cock in his mouth, hardly moving. The urge to swallow was almost overwhelming. He could feel the spit building behind his lower teeth, and when he moved his tongue another wave of it crested and dribbled out onto the floor. His breath sounded impossibly loud in the quiet as he panted through his nose. Finally, Aziraphale shuddered with pleasure and leant back in his seat.

"OK, darling, that's enough."

With a moan of grateful pleasure, Crowley fell to sucking his cock properly, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head with obscene slurping, sucking noises. He pulled away for a moment and wiped his chin with the back of his hand before taking hold of Aziraphale cock and pumping it as he sucked. He was rewarded with a groan from Aziraphale, whose hand tightened in Crowley's hair with just the right amount of pressure. Suddenly, the hand tightened even more and pulled Crowley's head up and away. He whined, still wanting more. Aziraphale's facade of cool was cracking, his cheeks were flushed and his chest lifted and fell with heavy breaths. He tried to speak, but changed his mind and instead leant down to kiss Crowley on his swollen pink lips. It was a sloppy tangle of lips and teeth, everything too wet and desperate to manage any finesse. Aziraphale pulled away, a little of his calm demeanour returned.

"That was," he started, but his voice cracked. "That was good," he said. His voice still wasn't quite steady, Crowley could feel a smug little blossom of pride growing in his chest. Aziraphale cleared his throat and laughed, stroking a sweat-clung strand of hair from Crowley's forehead. "Oh, my boy. That was very, very good. But more slowly, please. I'd like to make this last."

Crowley rolled his eyes, barely holding back a frustrated groan. Aziraphale laughed again.

"I know, sweetheart, but I'm having such a good time. Aren't you?"

Crowley conceded the point. He wiped his mouth and chin again and took Aziraphale's cock in his hand, giving it a few experimental pulls. Aziraphale sighed contentedly, and Crowley slipped the tip of his cock between his lips, tongue pressed against the sensitive underside. He pushed himself lower and lower until his nose pressed against the soft white hairs that curled around the base of Aziraphale's dick. Then he relaxed his throat, letting it slide deeper still. Slowly, Crowley let himself fall into a rhythm. He lost himself in the pull and drag of Aziraphale's cock across his lips, over his tongue, down his throat. His jaw ached with it, a delicious ache that matched the throbbing of his cock.

Aziraphale groaned, his fingernails scraping against Crowley's scalp. With a wet, sucking sound, Crowley pulled himself away. He caught Aziraphale's eyes and tried to speak. But the part of his brain that managed that side of things didn't seem to be responding.

"What is it, darling?"

Crowley swallowed, tried to concentrate, tried to remember how his voice worked. Aziraphale waited, patient as always.

"I can't help if you don't tell me," he said. "Tell me what you want."

"I..." His voice was so quiet, Aziraphale had to lean in close to hear him. Crowley closed his eyes, let his lips brush over the shell of Aziraphale's ear. "Ignore me," he whispered.

Aziraphale sat back. "Ignore you?" Crowley nodded, eyes still closed. He couldn't bear to look, not willing to see doubt or disgust in Aziraphale's eyes. To his surprise, he felt the press of Aziraphale's lips on his forehead, his hand stroking through his hair. "Alright," he said. "Would you like me to sit at the desk? I could read?"

He hadn't even thought of that. The idea made his eyes fly open, eager and grateful. Aziraphale laughed, kissed him again.

"Do you want me to tell you to do it?" he said, his mouth at Crowley's ear. Crowley swallowed. Nodded. "OK." Aziraphale sat up and, his voice steady with cool command, "Get under the desk."

So help him, Crowley crawled. He knelt under Aziraphale's desk with his hands in his lap and waited for Aziraphale to pull the chair up underneath it. It was cool under there, and dark, and all he could see was Aziraphale's stockinged legs and his cock, wet with spit and aching hard. He waited to see Aziraphale's body language change - he leant back in the chair, and Crowley could just make out the edge of a book in his hand. He leant forwards and pushed one of Aziraphale's legs over his shoulder. The slip of the stocking against his back was delicious, he ran his tongue up Aziraphale's thigh and stopped there for a moment, pressing his face against the hot, soft flesh. Then he took Aziraphale's cock into his mouth and started to suck, slow and steady.

He moved in a mindless rhythm, lost in the sensation. With Aziraphale's leg pressed close and the desk all around him, he had nothing to concentrate on but Aziraphale's cock, heavy and perfect in his mouth. In the quiet, he could hear nothing but the slip and slide of wet flesh on flesh, and the occasional turn of a page. He lost track of how long he was down there. His mind was a radio without signal, buzzing with quiet, contented static.

At some point, Aziraphale moved. He pulled the chair back, letting in a shaft of light. Crowley blinked, coming back to himself slowly. His jaw ached, his lips felt raw and soft with use. Aziraphale held out a hand to him and pulled him up, all the way up, until he sat in his lap. He pressed himself against Aziraphale's perfect, steady body, letting himself simply be held for a moment.

Aziraphale turned his head and kissed Crowley's cheek. "I want to fuck you," he said simply. Crowley nodded, speech beyond him. He felt Aziraphale's hand slide down his back, over his arse, pulling aside the knickers that Crowley had almost forgotten he was wearing, and then his fingers were there, barely brushing over Crowley's hole.

"Do it," he whispered.

Aziraphale's fingers worked into him slowly, hot and wet and unhurried. Crowley clung to Aziraphale's shoulders, his face pressed into his neck.

"Please," he said, his voice barely audible. "Please, I want... I need..."

Aziraphale didn't need to be asked twice. He adjusted his grip on Crowley's hips, pulling the pants further out of the way and, with a moment's hesitation, he pushed his cock into him. Crowley gasped at the sudden feeling of fullness even as his body made whatever miraculous adjustment he demanded of it. For a moment, Aziraphale held himself still, letting Crowley grow used to the sensation. Then he started to move his hips, a slow grinding movement that seemed to Crowley to push him deeper with every thrust.

"You feel so good, darling, so wet and ready for me," Aziraphale was saying, his voice close and quiet. "You've done so well, you've been such a good boy for me."

Crowley clung onto him more tightly. Aziraphale still held the edge of the underpants in his fist, pulling them tight across Crowley's cock, giving him the friction he needed. He felt them digging into his hips and legs, adding a frisson of pain that cut through the buzzing hum of everything else he'd felt that night. He realised dimly that he was speaking, mumbling nonsense into Aziraphale's neck.

"Wanna be good," he was saying. "Wanna be good for you, Aziraphale. Do what you want me to. Be good for you."

"You are good, you're so good, you've done so well," Aziraphale reassured him. He had his mouth against Crowley's ear, his voice a low, steady murmur, his free hand rubbing mesmerising circles on Crowley's back. "Now, my sweet boy, I want you to do one more thing. I want you to come for me, darling, can you do that? I want to feel your tight little hole get even tighter as you come in those pretty pants for me. Want to see you make a mess of yourself all over my cock. You're such a good boy, Crowley, show me what a good boy you can be-"

Crowley tipped forwards with a strangled cry. His cock jumped and twitched as he came, spurting hot and thick. He felt himself soaking through the silk crotch, felt the mess he was making all over himself, all over Aziraphale. Almost immediately, Aziraphale moved his hand from Crowley's back to his crotch, pressing the come-soaked fabric against his cock and squeezing. He slipped his hand under the fabric and pulled them out again with trails of come caught on his fingers. When he brought his hand to Crowley's lips, still red and swollen, Crowley sucked them clean without hesitation, his tongue forked and agile. Finally, Aziraphale took him by the jaw and pulled him down into a sloppy, desperate kiss. His hips lost their rhythm as his own orgasm shuddered through him and he came, filling Crowley's hole and groaning into his mouth.

Dimly, as if it were happening to someone else, Crowley was aware of Aziraphale pulling out of him and sitting back, exhausted. Crowley didn't care. He let himself rest against Aziraphale's soft, safe body, let himself be held for a long, long time in the quiet. At some point, he felt himself being lifted in strong arms and carried to the sofa. He didn't mind, as long as he didn't have to let go. He felt Aziraphale move, trying to find the right angle. Then a click of fingers, and there was a hot wet cloth on the back of his neck. He pressed into it, humming happily. Slowly, Aziraphale moved the cloth over his body, miracling it fresh as needed. His favourite part was when he wiped it over his face, gentle and thorough, leaving him feeling fresh and loved and clean.

As the washcloth moved, he came back himself. He lifted his hips to help Aziraphale peel the knickers off him, caught his eye as he did so and laughed, a breathy little sound in the stillness.

"Ruined them a bit," he said, words slurring slightly. "Sorry."

"It's alright, dear," said Aziraphale, smiling. "You can buy me a new pair."

"Mmhmm."

"Did you have a nice time tonight?" said Aziraphale, remarkably conversational for someone currently cleaning dried come off his lover's cock. If Crowley had had the energy, he'd have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. That was Aziraphale for you, he thought fondly. He'd make a song and a dance about getting his shoes dirty or whether his socks were on straight, but didn't bat an eyelid in the face of actual bodily fluids.

He was still smiling at the thought when he realised Aziraphale was talking to him. He opened his eyes, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing.

"I asked if you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart. I hope it didn't go too far or wasn't what you were expecting."

Crowley smiled, shook his head. "'s not what I expected," he confessed. "Didn't know what to expect. But I liked it." He stretched, arching his back and groaning with cat-like pleasure. "I liked it so much, angel. 'm all droopy now."

Aziraphale laughed, pressed a kiss to his knee, and finished cleaning up. When he was done, Crowley opened his eyes and smiled at him.

"Thanks," he said. "That was much nicer than just zapping me clean."

Aziraphale's answering smile was broad and bright and made his heart ache. "You deserved it, dear boy. A bit of proper TLC. Though I hope you don't mind if I don't actually carry you upstairs."

Crowley laughed. "Unacceptable, I'm afraid. I think you should carry me wherever I want to go for at least a week after tonight's performance."

"Ha! If I'd known those were the terms, I wouldn't have bothered."

Crowley stretched again, yawning. Aziraphale sat on the end of the sofa, looking at him with incredible softness. Crowley clicked his fingers.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale squeaked, suddenly naked.

"Enough's enough, angel," Crowley laughed. "I'm done being the only naked one. Now come here."

Aziraphale grumbled something halfhearted, but let himself be pulled down to lie beside Crowley. A little wriggling and they found a position comfortable for them both, legs tangled together, Crowley's head nestled against Aziraphale's chest, loving the soft broadness of him. He pulled a blanket free from the back of the sofa and pulled it over them. He could already feel sleep pulling at him, his body aching and exhausted.

"I love you," he said into Aziraphale's chest.

"Love you too, my dear."

"'m gonna buy you breakfast," he promised. Aziraphale huffed a disbelieving laugh. "Brunch," Crowley amended.

"Sounds lovely. Now sleep, dear boy. I'll be here when you wake up."

It was enough for Crowley. He let go of the last loose thread of consciousness and let himself slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

#

1 This might have been less convincing if Crowley had known some of the names of those willing bodies. Fortunately, Aziraphale was not the type to kiss and tell - even if he was kissing his way through a veritable who's who of literary luminaries.[return to text]

2 Crowley was working on an exhaustive catalogue of such spots with the kind of single-minded dilligence that could have saved an awful lot of bother had he applied it to such tasks as, for example, keeping track of the Antichrist.[return to text]

3 There was something about the position, a combination of Aziraphale's openness and a sense of his own security that was irresistible.[return to text]

4 Though admittedly that did occupy most of his thoughts - he had been waiting 6,000 years, he could hardly be blamed for making up for lost time.[return to text]

5 Very few people did. 6,000 years of practice gives you an undeniable edge.[return to text]

6 Demons also do not cuddle, or like having their hair stroked, or spend embarrassing amounts of time wondering if they can use the word 'boyfriend' to describe the person whom they are definitely not currently cuddling and who is definitely not at this minute stroking their hair in sweet, lazy movements that are sending said demon's brain into a place of fuzzy edges and happy static. Definitely not.[return to text]

7 Never mind that he'd invented them - every time he saw one of those bloody signs he wanted to set them on fire. And occasionally, he did.[return to text]

8 One might even call it miraculously perfect.[return to text]

9 He filed the idea away for another time though - perhaps they could combine it with the blindfold Aziraphale had mentioned...[return to text]


End file.
